‘I don’t call that serviceable,’ said Jowett scornfully. ‘I could go out now and find you a dozen men like that inside ten minutes.’
‘Not in Bermondsey,’ said Cribb. “You don’t get nobby dressers in this locality, sir. I’ll grant you there are no other outstanding characteristics in the description, but at least it didn’t conflict with my theory.’
‘Which is …?’
‘That after Julian Ducane left Hampstead, he started up again as a photographer in Kew.’
‘My word! Howard Cromer?’
‘Look at it from Ducane’s point of view,’ said Cribb. ‘His business was in danger of collapse if he stayed in Hampstead, so he got out as quickly as he decently could. With his savings and the money from the sale of his studio he could afford to start again in another well-heeled locality. Obviously he didn’t want people to know what had happened in Hampstead, so he chose to live on the other side of London, across the river. And to make sure, I believe he changed his name.’
Jowett simply stared at Cribb, holding his unlighted pipe an inch from his mouth.
‘When I interviewed Howard Cromer earlier this week,’ Cribb continued, ‘he went to no end of trouble to cooperate-showed me over the studio, talked about his wife and got out their family photograph album. I’m not used to being treated like that by people of his sort, who like to think they have arrived in society. Usually as soon as I give my rank, it’s “Very well, officer, go to the kitchen and ask cook to give you a mug of tea and I’ll answer your questions when I can spare a minute.” I couldn’t decide what Cromer was up to-trying to sweeten me or lead me up the garden path. I’m inclined to think it was both. He didn’t lie to me exactly, but some of his statements could only be described as misleading, and that’s charitable. I wanted to find out which train he caught to Brighton on the day of the murder. I couldn’t get a straight answer, except that he left the house before ten. He may have done, but the fact is that he wasn’t expected in Brighton till half past two.’
‘There may be an innocent explanation for that,’ Jowett pointed out. ‘What was the phrase he used in the letter to the Portrait Photographers’ League?’
‘Prevented by another commitment.’
‘Have you asked him what the commitment was?’
‘I haven’t talked to him since Sunday, sir.’ Cribb pretended not to notice one of the Chief Inspector’s eyebrows shoot up. If Jowett wanted to criticise his conduct of the case, he could damned well come out with it in plain English. ‘But that wasn’t the only statement intended to mislead me. When he showed me the photograph album, he tried to give me the impression he first met Miriam in April, 1885, on the day her father brought the family to the studio at Kew for a group portrait. I believe he must have known her three years earlier than that.’
‘Really?’ Jowett sounded unconvinced. ‘What grounds do you have for saying that?’
‘First, I was suspicious of the album itself, sir. I noticed two of the pages were stuck together. Cromer had to separate them with a knife. He said something about glue on the mount, but as it was a photograph of the wedding, two and a half years ago, I couldn’t understand how glue had got on to it unless it had recently been pasted into the album. That set me thinking that he might have put the entire album together in the last day or so in order to illustrate his story, the story he wanted me to believe. He put the damned thing into my hands at the first opportunity, telling me it was his most precious possession. Naturally the first picture in it was the portrait of the Kilpatrick family.’
‘That’s a lot to deduce from one spot of glue, Sergeant.’
‘It isn’t the only thing, sir. There’s the matter of the photograph the headmaster showed me. The picnic outing on Hampstead Heath. It showed the three girls together, and beside them was Simon Allingham, Cromer’s oldest friend. If Allingham was known to Miriam in the summer of 1882-’
‘That’s speculation,’ cut in Jowett and there was a disagreeable note of triumph in his voice. ‘We cannot draw any such conclusion. The mere fact that they were situated in some proximity in a photograph could be accidental. There is no guarantee that the Allingham in the picture is the same person, since you admitted yourself that the figures were unrecognisable. It won’t do, Sergeant. Do you know what you are guilty of?’ Jowett jabbed his pipe-stem at Cribb. ‘Post hoc ergo propter hoc. Do you have Latin? No matter. In short, your reasoning is founded on a fallacy. You have persuaded yourself that Cromer is not what he purports to be and you are fitting the facts to justify your prejudice.’
‘It’s true there isn’t concrete evidence-’ Cribb began.
‘Evidence of what?’ crowed Jowett without pausing for an answer. ‘That Howard Cromer was formerly known as Julian Ducane? Is that what you hope to prove, Sergeant? Even if he was, there is nothing very sinister in it, is there? People in trade frequently change the names by which they are known as they move up in the world.’
‘There is the matter of Judith Honeycutt’s death.’
‘Exactly! A very good reason for taking on a new name,’ said Jowett. ‘Frankly, if Howard Cromer was unfortunate enough to have had such a tragedy in his former establishment, it isn’t surprising that he is evasive about his past.’
‘He needn’t have been evasive about Brighton.’
Jowett asked, ‘Are you seriously telling me that you suspect him of being involved in Perceval’s death?’
‘It’s possible, sir. If he was in Kew that morning he could have put poison into the decanter as easily as his wife could. More important, he had a key to the poison cabinet, and she didn’t.’
For an interval, only the ticking of the clock was audible in the room.
‘If that were true,’ said Jowett, ‘someone must have seen him in Park Lodge. Have you questioned the servants?’
‘No help there, sir. After nine o’clock, they aren’t allowed upstairs. He doesn’t want clients meeting the domestics.’
Jowett eased a finger round his collar. ‘It’s still in the realm of speculation, then? Just a convenient theory of yours. Sergeant, I cannot emphasise too forcibly that if there is anything in this at all, it won’t convince the Home Secretary without solid evidence to support it. Where is that evidence to come from?’
‘Mrs Miriam Cromer.’
The Chief Inspector’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘What precisely are you saying, Sergeant?’
‘I’m saying this is Thursday, sir. The woman is due to hang on Monday. Our report should be on the Commissioner’s table by tomorrow evening. You are absolutely right-I have no direct evidence that Howard Cromer was implicated in the murder. If this was a regular investigation I’d put a couple of men on house-to-house inquiries to establish Cromer’s movements on the morning of the crime. Someone must have seen him leaving the house or walking to the station or stepping on the train. But even if I established that he was still in the house at noon, after the wine was delivered, it isn’t proof that he was involved in the poisoning. It strengthens the suspicion, no more. There isn’t time to carry out the exercise and, anyway, I don’t have the men. I’m obliged to seek the information another way. Miriam Cromer can tell me. I want permission to interview her, sir.’
Jowett closed his eyes as people do in the split-second before an impact. A decision was unavoidable. ‘To interview the prisoner herself?’ he said in a whisper.